..:: Quotes ::..
In chronologically order (well actually not.. in the movie order)
In chronologically order (well actually not.. in the movie order)
He who makes a beast of himself Gets rid of the pain of being a man.
Suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car... and a voice was screaming: Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?
We had two bags of grass, seventy- five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, a whole galaxy of multi- colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers... Also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of beer, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls.
Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.
The only thing that really worried me was the ether. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge. And I knew we'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.
No more of that talk or I'll put the fucking leeches on you, you understand?
This one sounds like real trouble. You're going to need plenty of legal advice before this thing is over. As your attorney I advise you to rent a very fast car with no top. And you'll need the cocaine. Tape recorder for special music, Acapulco shirts... Get the hell out of LA for at least 48 hrs.
This blows my weekend
Why?
'cause naturally I'll have to go with you.
And we'll have to arm ourselves... to the teeth.
Our trip was different. It was to be a classic affirmation of everything right and true in the national character; a gross, physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country. But only for those with true grit...
And we are chock full of that man!
Damn right!
Jesus! Did you see what GOD just did to us man?!
God didn't do that, you did it. You're a fucking narcotics agent, I knew it..
That was our cocaine you PIG, FUCKING PIG, SWINE, WHORE!
Better be carefull, plenty of vultures out here, they'll pick your bones clean before morning.
You fucking whore..
Hee! Hee! Hee!
As your attorney, I advise you to drive at top speed. It'll be a goddamn miracle if we can get there before you turn into a wild animal. Are you ready for that? Checking into a Vegas hotel under a phony name with intent to commit capital fraud and a head full of acid.
HI THERE. MY NAME... AH, RAOUL DUKE... ON... ON THAT LIST, THAT'S FOR SURE. FREE LUNCH, FINAL WISDOM, TOTAL COVERAGE... WHY NOT? I HAVE MY ATTORNEY WITH ME, AND I REALIZE OF COURSE... ... THAT HIS NAME IS NOT ON THE LIST, BUT WE MUST HAVE THAT SUITE. YES. JUST CHECK THE LIST AND YOU'LL SEE. DON'T WORRY. WHAT'S THE SCORE HERE? WHAT'S NEXT?
There's a big.. machine in the sky... some kind of electric snake.. coming straight at us.
Shoot it.
Not yet, I want to study it's habits.
Ah, devil ether. It makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early Irish novel... total loss of all basic motor skills; blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue
The mind recoils in horror, unable to communicate with the spinal column. Which is interesting, because you can actually watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control it.
Bazooko Circus is what the whole hep world would be doing Saturday night if the Nazis had won the war. This was the Sixth Reich.
I hate to say this, but this place is getting to me. I think I'm getting The Fear.
Nonsense. We came here to find the American Dream, and now we're right in the vortex you want to quit. You must realize that we've found the Main Nerve.
That's what gives me The Fear.
Look over there. Two women fucking a Polar Bear.
Please, don't tell me those things... Not now.
One of the things you learn, after years of dealing with drug people, is that you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug. Especially when it's waving a razor-sharp hunting knife in your eyes.
Back the tape up. I need it again! Let it roll! Just as high as the fucker can go! And when it comes to that fantastic note where the rabbit bites its own head off, I want you to throw that fucking radio into the tub with me!
Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas.
Has it been five years? Six? It seems like a lifetime -- the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. But no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.
There was madness in any direction, at any hour... You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right. And that, I think, was the handle -- That sense of inevitable victory over the forces of old and evil. Not in any mean or military sens; we didn't need that, our energy would simply prevail. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave...
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look west, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high water mark -- that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.
Here I was, alone in Las Vegas, with this goddamned incredibly expensive car, completely twisted on drugs, no cash, no story for the magazine. And on top of everything else I had a gigantic goddamn hotel bill to deal with.
Stay calm. Stay calm. I'm a relatively respectable citizen -- a multiple felon, perhaps, but certainly not dangerous.
Jesus, bad waves of paranoia, madness, fear and loathing -- intolerable vibrations in this place. Get out! The weasels were closing in. I could smell the ugly brutes.
Few people understand the psychology of dealing with a Highway Traffic Cop. Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop heart. Make the bastard chase you. He will follow. But he won't know what to make of your blinker signal that says you're about to turn right. This is to let him know you're looking for a proper place to pull off and talk. It will take him a moment to realize that he is about to make 180 degree turn at speed... but you will be ready for it, braced for the G's and the fast heel toe work.
If I put you in the pool right now, you'd sink like a goddamn stone. You took too much. Jesus, look at your face, you're about to explode. Don't try and fight it, or you'll get brain bubbles. Strokes, aneurysms. You'll just wither up and die.
Listen, you fuzzy little shithead -- I've been fucked around, in my time, by a fairly good cross- section of mean-tempered rule-crazy cops.. and now, it's MY turn. So fuck you officer, I'm in charge.
You people voted for Hubert Humphrey! You killed Jesus!
We had abused every rule that Vegas lived by -- burning the locals, abusing the tourists, terrifying the help. The only chance now, I felt, was the possibility that we'd gone to such excess that nobody in the position to bring the hammer down on us could possibility believe it.
We had abused every rule that Vegas lived by -- burning the locals, abusing the tourists, terrifying the help.
The only chance now, I felt, was the possibility that we'd gone to such excess that nobody in the position to bring the hammer down on us could possibility believe it.
There he goes -- one of God's own prototypes -- a high powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live... and too rare to die.
We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled that 60's. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary's trip. He crashed around America selling "consciousness expansion" without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took him seriously...
All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and failure is ours too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped create...
a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody... or at least some force -- is tending the light at the end of the tunnel.
There was only one road back to L.A. US Interstate 15, just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo, then on to the Hollywood Freeway straight into frantic oblivion: safety, obscurity, just another freak in the Freak Kingdom.
